'Go now and become the Wrath of Chaos!' The will of Talos passed through the ether, grasping the princess in a smoky but unbreakable embrace. Vigilant as ever, Helm looked on, pleased with the power he saw there.
And in the north, where he slumbered in his glacial vale, the demigod Grond Peaksmasher stirred. There was in existence only one key to his icy prison, but now-after all these centuries-he sensed that this key drew near.
8
'How long do we wait?' muttered Finellen as Brigit and Hanrald joined her around the breakfast fire. The dwarven column had marched the breadth of Winterglen, remaining a day or two behind the giants and trolls. The trail had been easy to follow. Several experienced dwarven woodsmen preceded the main body, probing the forest thoroughly in order to discover any potential ambush.
'It'll take a few days for the king's army to get here,' Hanrald cautioned. 'We have to hold off until we can unite our forces.'
'Bah-caution!' exclaimed Finellen, making a curse of the word. 'It doesn't become me. It doesn't become any dwarven warrior when there's a plain enemy before us, and a blood foe at that!'
'But think how much more damage you'll do to that enemy once you have the force to properly strike them!'
Finellen huffed, spitting into the coals of the fire. Yet she found it hard to argue with that point. The monsters' trail, a wide swath through Winterglen, bespoke of a large force, and several smaller paths had intersected it along the way. The latter led to speculation that the army of monsters had grown since the sacking of Cambro.
On the other hand, Finellen had merely her fifty veteran warriors. Even if they were motivated to glory by battle against a blood foe, the outcome of such an unequal battle would be a foregone conclusion: a disaster for the outnumbered dwarves. Still, that didn't make it any easier for the dwarven captain to accept her forced inaction.
She looked around the quiet camp. Numerous well-screened cookfires dotted the woods, sending the aroma of bacon wafting through the trees but raising no telltale plumes of smoke. The dwarves took their time about eating, since they all knew that there was no purpose in haste. Still, it agitated Finellen even further to see such a lackadaisical attitude among dwarves on the trail of war.
A human stepped from a clump of trees beside the dwarven captain's group, and Finellen spun on her heel, sputtering with surprise, as Danrak bowed politely and settled to the ground beside the others. The druid's comings and goings were always abrupt, and he had a distressing way of appearing in the center of the dwarven camp without having been observed by any of the pickets.
'Well, what did you find out?' demanded the dwarfwoman bluntly.
'They march on Codscove, as we feared,' replied the druid sadly. 'I left the army last night as it gathered into two great camps beside the town. I don't doubt that by now they've attacked.'
'Damn!' snapped the dwarf. 'And we sit here a day's march away! How many towns have to get sacked before we-' Abruptly she clamped her mouth shut, her bristling chin fixed in determination.
'Everybody up!' she bellowed, her voice ringing through the forested camp. 'Douse your fires and swallow your bacon! We march in three minutes!' Finellen turned back to her immediate companions. 'Maybe we can't take 'em in a fixed battle, but if they're occupied with Codscove, we might be able to hurt them from behind.'
'It beats sitting around waiting for help that might come too late,' Hanrald agreed.
'It will come too late,' noted Danrak, 'if what I saw last night is any indication.'
The dwarves responded with alacrity to their leader's command, and within the allotted minutes, the full column took to the trail. The light-footed scouts scattered to form their wide screen, while the two riders followed at the rear. Finellen had made the indisputable point that the pair of horses were a lot noisier than the sure-footed dwarves leading the formation.
A new sense of urgency propelled the dwarves of Cambro as word of Danrak's information spread through the ranks. They hoisted their weapons, grimly buoyed by the prospects of wetting them in the enemy's blood. As a consequence, the two riders had to urge their horses into a trot just to keep up.
'Thurgol-come here!' hissed Garisa, her piercing voice somehow penetrating the boisterous firbolg celebration. The battle outside remained forgotten as the giant-kin all crowded into the storage house. The noises of combat, with the humans of Codsbay fiercely contesting against Baatlrap's trolls, occasionally came to them through the stout wooden walls. The firbolgs, Thurgol included, had little interest in pursuing the fight.
Over the last few minutes, the chieftain had occasionally thought that perhaps he should hasten his creatures back to the attack, but somehow his heart couldn't support the effort. Hearing the shaman's cry now, the firbolg chieftain looked up from the broken keg he had just seized from a young and undisciplined member of his band, as opposed to the old and undisciplined giant-kin who also celebrated raucously in the huge storage depot.
'What is it?' Thurgol barked at the elderly shaman, irritated by everything going on around him. 'Can't it wait? I'm busy!'
'Get over here, you great oaf!' she hissed, in a tone that couldn't help but gain his attention.
For a moment, the chieftain considered responding to the ancient hag with angry words or even a thump from his club, but he well remembered Garisa's command of things of the spirit world. He decided he'd best not tempt such unnatural forces and grudgingly climbed to his feet.
'Look!' she crowed, pointing out the crack beside the warehouse door. It was the same crack the humans had used to thrust out with their deadly spears.
'A ship!' he said, amazed at the appearance of a sleek northman longship gliding toward the wharf.
'Yes-it comes to Codsbay just when we need it!'
Thurgol considered, suddenly intrigued by the shaman's implied suggestion. He peered through the crack again, watching the tall, long-braided captain direct the vessel toward the waterfront. The human's attention remained fixed upon the melee on the great commons square. Obviously he wasn't aware of the large force of firbolgs hidden in the building, even closer to the dock.
The ship drew up to the wharf barely a rock's throw from the battered warehouse, and the strapping northern warrior sprang to the dock, holding a huge battle-axe in one hand and gesturing to his crew.
'For Tempus and Gnarhelm!' he bellowed, and twoscore screaming warriors poured onto the dock at his heels. Howling like madmen, they raced toward the melee on the town commons.
Perhaps a dozen men remained aboard the ship. One of them, a gray-haired veteran, held the rudder as if he were a fixture of the vessel, commanding the other crewmen to push off. The giant watched the northmen raise oars, saw that they would drive them against the dock, pushing the vessel away from shore until their shipmates returned.
In that instant of realization, Thurgol saw an opportunity and acted quickly to seize it before it was perhaps forever removed. Crashing a brawny shoulder into the door, he sent it smashing outward.
'Charge!' he cried, his deep voice rumbling beneath the shrill sounds of battle. Somehow the urgency in his command caught even the attention of the rambunctious giant-kin.
'The ship!' screeched Garisa in support. 'Go and take it! Seize our means to the Icepeak!'
A dozen firbolgs followed Thurgol in the first rush out the door. The gray-haired helmsman saw them immediately and cursed loudly for his men to hurry.
But the ship was too close and too heavy to move away instantly. The chieftain crossed the ground to the dock in ten quick strides, and then a leap carried him through the air to land heavily in the bench-lined hull. The craft rocked surprisingly from his weight, not to mention that of his fellows as they, too, sprang into the sturdy vessel. At least, most of them landed in the hull. The momentum of each leaping giant pushed the ship farther from the pier, so that the last few firbolgs splashed into the chill waters of Codsbay.
Aboard the Princess of Moonshae, Thurgol recovered his balance quickly, smashing his club against a nimble
